Kissing The Enemy (Scandals and Spies Book 1) (12 page)

For a moment, a dark expression crossed Tristan’s face. He shot his brother a look of annoyance, likely since the duke had taken it upon himself to comment on Tristan’s behalf. Freddie wouldn’t have liked being ignored like that.

Once again, she had to wonder if Morgan had betrayed his country first, and Tristan had followed him out of loyalty to his family. She pressed her lips together, doing her best to play invisible.

The moment Tristan stepped abreast of the chairs, his gaze settled on Freddie. Her breath hitched as she locked eye contact with him. Without words, she tried to tell him to stop. Stop looking at her, stop speaking to her. Their siblings were forming ideas, coming to unfortunate conclusions that Freddie couldn’t convincingly combat without spilling the truth.

That was out of the question.

Fortunately, Tristan looked away to address his sister. “You seem unusually enthusiastic this evening.”

With absent strokes of her hands, she smoothed her dress. “I am. I managed to fill three pages of my notebook!”

He smiled, though the expression had a wary edge. “It must be a riveting idea.”

“It is. Oh, silly me, why don’t you sit?” She motioned to the armchair she’d just vacated.

The duke’s second eyebrow rose to join the first. “There aren’t enough seats, Lucy.”

Again, that annoyance crossed Tristan’s face, quickly buried.

With a light, tinkling laugh, like wind chimes, Lucy slipped between the two brothers and laid her hand on the duke’s arm. “Tristan, you can take my seat. Morgan, Mama told me earlier that she’d like a word with you. Why don’t we get that out of the way?”

Lucy should have been the spy, not Tristan. She handled her brothers with such a suave grace that they barely noticed they were being manipulated. Morgan straightened his cravat and pulled on the cuffs of his tailcoat as he muttered under his breath.

“What could Mama want this time?”

Freddie would have wagered her family’s annuity that Lady Graylocke hadn’t requested his presence at all. She bit her tongue as the pair walked away.

Tristan remained behind. His gaze gleamed, the clear, deep brown of his irises reflecting the candlelight, as he took the chair next to Freddie. She stiffened, and pointedly turned her face away.

Charlie set aside her embroidery. At least Freddie would have one ally against him, even if Charlotte didn’t know the true depth of his character.

However, the moment she tucked the embroidery into its basket, she stood, hoisting the basket onto her arm. “I should return this to our room. I won’t be but a moment, Freddie.”

As was polite, Tristan stood as well. Charlie offered him a neat curtsey, and turned away.

“Wait—”

Freddie cut off her words when she glimpsed the smirk playing around Charlie’s lips a moment before her back fully turned. Freddie clenched her fists in her skirts. Charlie knew, just as well as she did, that their maid Lisane would collect the embroidery when the room was vacant. The only reason her sister had left had been to thrust Freddie into Tristan’s company—alone.

With a flick, Tristan arranged the tail of his coat and dropped into the seat next to her once more. He stretched out his legs in front of him, barring her path. His gaze twinkled.

“We meet again, Miss Vale.”

I’d rather meet a pit of vipers.
She bit the inside of her cheek. Although no one joined them in their corner, the guests now mingled throughout the room, the chatter rising considerably. Some plucky young debutante had seated herself at the pianoforte again. No one seemed to be paying her much mind. The noise obscured the sound of their conversation somewhat, but not enough to disguise their words to those who stood near enough.

Freddie took a deep, steadying breath. She prepared for a war of wits. “Please don’t feel like you have to keep me company, Lord Graylocke. I’m perfectly content to sit here alone.”

“Nonsense!”

Freddie cringed as he raised his voice a touch too loud for comfort, drawing more attention.

“It’s my pleasure to sit with a beautiful woman.”

Blooms of heat lit her cheeks like fireworks. She narrowed her eyes. What was his game? After darting a glance to the gathering—more and more eyes turned in their direction, and she was certain the whispers behind gloved hands were centered on them as well—she leaned closer to Tristan.

She kept her voice low, so hopefully no one but him would hear. “What are you doing?”

His smile grew. “Speaking to you. In turn, you respond to me. I believe it’s called conversation.”

She glared. “Stop. People are starting to get the wrong idea.”

He crossed his ankles, leaning back in a relaxed pose and threaded his fingers over his stomach. “And what would that be, my dear?”

She balled her fists. “Don’t call me that. They’ll think you intend to marry me.”

He laughed. The sound was soft at first, but one corner of his mouth turned up. He lost the battle and threw his head back.

Freddie kicked at his ankle to draw his attention. “It isn’t funny. Your sister is embracing the idea. As is mine.”

That convinced him to shut his mouth, but a twinkle of mirth remained at his side. “Is it farfetched for a man to pay court to a woman?”

“You know very well that it is out of the question when we are the man and woman in that scenario.”

A predatory look crossed his face. Sitting upright, he leaned his elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his chin on his hand. “And why is that?”

She lowered her voice even further, the barest hiss. “Because we are enemies!”

His eyelids lowered, a languid expression. “We don’t have to be. In fact, if you gave me a chance, I’m sure you’d find that there are many advantages to having me as an ally.”

Never. Never, never, never.

Freddie counted to ten as she forced herself to take a deep breath. When she released it, she felt no better.

“I will not be your ally. You are wasting your time.”

Moreover, he wasted hers! With Charlie and Lucy preoccupied, this would have been the perfect time to dash out the door without anyone being the wiser.

“Do you find me so odious?”

“Yes.” She narrowed her eyes. “You know why.”

“Do I?” He reached out and captured one of her hands. As he drew it between them, he gently loosened her fist. When he’d curled each of her fingers away from her palm, he pressed his lips to the spot he’d exposed.

Freddie stifled a gasp. The touch of his hot breath and lips on her palm burned her like a brand. The thin silk of her gloves proved no barrier. She colored up, but didn’t dare peek behind her to see if anyone had noticed the gesture. She didn’t want to know whose wagging tongues were at play.

Tristan’s eyes darkened with an emotion she dared not name. “I’d like to propose a truce.”

She stiffened. She didn’t have time for compromises or truces. Even now, with their words veiled, Freddie knew that his main aim was to keep her from finding the code book. She would not give up.

“I will not enter a truce with you.” Her voice was strangely breathless.

Did he look disappointed? When he retracted his hand, his fingertips grazed the back of her hand from her wrist to the tips of her fingers. She shivered involuntarily.

He raised his eyebrows. “Not even to ensure that I turn my attentions elsewhere?”

Freddie gritted her teeth. Didn’t he know that by pretending to court her, he ultimately did her reputation harm? When they inevitably parted, if the rumors didn’t place her in a compromising position, it would seem as if he, the son of a duke, had shunned her. She’d never marry.

She hardened herself. It didn’t matter. After all, she didn’t intend to marry. She refused to be dependent on a man, left destitute when he cocked up his toes because he couldn’t control his gambling habit. Most men of the
ton
gambled. Freddie knew that she couldn’t forbid the habit, but she didn’t have to indulge a man deep in debt, either.

No. She would find the code book. She would attain the promised cottage for herself and her mother. Charlie would marry well.

Freddie refused to allow Tristan to taint her reputation, and thereby Charlie’s.

Balling her fist, she stood. “I am done conversing with you.”

He rose with her. The chairs, squeezed into the tight corner, were so close together that when she stood, she found herself inches away from his body. Her gaze roved over his eveningwear of its own accord. This evening, he wore a bit of color with an emerald green tailcoat and tan waistcoat and breeches to offset his milk-white cravat and black Hessian boots. She couldn’t help but admire the way his broad shoulders filled out his coat. Did he pad them? No, she’d seen him without his jacket and he’d been every bit as broad. Swallowing to moisten her dry mouth, she dropped her gaze to her shoes.

As another young woman poised on the seat of the pianoforte, someone gave a call. The exclamation was muffled, but Freddie caught the word ‘dancing.’

The cry was soon taken up by others and the gentlemen worked together to clear the furniture from the center of the room. In the bustle and cacophony, Freddie tried to slip away.

Tristan blocked her path. “Would you do me the honor of standing up as my dance partner?”

Freddie’s breath caught. He wore his usual, fashionably bored expression, the air of someone unflappable. A burn of embarrassment spread throughout her chest as she ducked her head. “I…can’t.”

He leaned closer. The sandalwood smell of his cologne swirled around her, making her lightheaded.

“Don’t think for a second that I’ll let you slip away to search my chambers again.” His voice was low, intimate, and disapproving.

She firmed her chin, but didn’t look up. “I can’t dance.”

“You must be jesting.” His voice was thick with disbelief.

With a glare, she reared her head to look him in the eye. “I taught my sister, but didn’t have time to practice, myself.”

One eyebrow twitched, as though he battled a sardonic expression. “You just admitted you can’t dance. How can you teach another?”

“I only know how to lead.” It hadn’t been an issue before tonight. Compared to Charlie, Freddie faded into the background. She was happy there, a wallflower, unnoticed.

But Tristan seemed determined to expose her. He held out his hand, palm up. “I’m certain the steps aren’t that dissimilar. Try it. I promise, I won’t make this a competition.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Freddie’s mouth. “Good, because I don’t know if I’d care for a repetition of battledore.”

He gave a wry, one-shouldered shrug, looking at once chagrined and unapologetic. Reaching out, he caught her hand and brought it up between them.

“What do you say? Will you dance with me?”

This is a bad idea.
Even so, she found herself wishing that she had practiced, that she would be able to show to advantage. When she hazarded a glance around the room, men and women were pairing off, but some people looked toward her and Tristan with unveiled curiosity. Mrs. Biddleford and her companion were two such people.

Freddie couldn’t, in good grace, refuse a man so closely tied to the hostess of this party. Even if he was her enemy.

She nodded, stiffly.

The woman behind the pianoforte played a lively tune. Her skills were imperfect, but the cheerful beat hid many of the slips of her fingers. Tristan drew Freddie away from the wall and took up a ready stance for La Boulangere. He took both her hands in his. The heat of his long, broad hand seeped into her palm as he tightened his hold.

“Are you ready?”

Other couples had already begun to dance. Freddie nodded, a short, curt movement. She and Tristan stepped forward at the same time. Their abdomens brushed as they nearly collided before Freddie took a hasty step back. She hung her head, wishing that her hair was loose to hide her hot complexion.

When she glanced up again, she found Tristan admiring her form. She realized that, without her fichu, her cleavage was on full display. He didn’t seem to dislike what he saw.

Freddie opened her mouth, then shut it again. She’d never been ogled by a man, at least no man other than Harker. When she attended soirees or excursions, it was always with Charlie by her side to draw the male gaze. Being the object of a man’s attentions—and a handsome man, at that—made her giddy. She fought the feeling.

Tristan caught her gaze and held it. “Relax. Trust me.” His voice was gentle, his expression earnest. The rest of the world melted away. For a moment, she could almost forget that they were enemies on opposite sides of a war. And that scared her most of all.

A tide of panic caught her chest, rising quickly. She stepped back, shaking her head. “I can’t.” Yanking back, she gathered her skirt and ran from the room, her heart beating quickly.

As she crossed the few steps to the door, her gaze unwillingly fell on Harker. Her breath caught. Mama wasn’t here, so why was he? His piercing gaze warned her that she treaded a dangerous path. She crossed the threshold, her heart in her throat.

She knew what was at stake. She couldn’t let herself forget what would befall her family if she failed Harker’s task.

Above all, she couldn’t trust Tristan. She couldn’t fall for him. He was a French spy, and they would always be enemies.

Even if she wished their relationship could be different.

T
he cooler air
of the corridor granted Freddie clarity. Without Tristan nearby to muddle her senses, she was able to focus on his real aim in lavishing attention upon her. To distract her from her mission, to thwart her from finding the code book.

She clenched her hands. “Not today.”

Instead of making her way toward the wide marble steps leading to the guest wing, she turned toward the library. With Tristan occupied, this might be the only chance she would find to search it without being subjected to his scrutiny.

By now, the path was imprinted on her mind like rote. She kept to the center of the runner, her footsteps muffled as she avoided the fragile items on pedestals along the hall. She held her breath, for fear of drawing someone’s attention if she exhaled too hard. Although she passed several servants as she walked, they each stepped to the side to let her pass without comment.

At last, she reached the library door. She ran her fingers over the wood for a moment before grasping the handle. If this journey had been different, she might have been able to lose herself in one of the many magnificent books beyond this door.

She gritted her teeth and chided herself.
Stop it. You can’t afford to be fanciful.
If she was wishing her life to be different, she might as well wish Harker out of it. And she knew exactly how to do that.

Inside the library, a fire burned in the wide hearth. The air was stale with cheroot smoke, a bit bitter of a smell. The armchairs, facing the fire, were vacant. All around the room, shelf after shelf of books soared as far as her eye could see.

“How am I supposed to find the book in here?”

That would be the point, a clever way of concealing the sensitive code book in plain sight. She squared her shoulders and decided to start to the left of the door. The two stories of wall-to-wall bookcases taunted her, but she refused to shy away from a bit of hard work.

Harker had told her that the book she sought was encased in red-dyed leather, the size of a pocket book with a gold seal on the front. She hadn’t thought to ask what the seal would depict. Hopefully, she didn’t find two books that met that description.

Looking around the room, filled with books primarily brown, she laughed. It was a low, bitter sound. She would be lucky if she found one book meeting that description, let alone two.

You’ll never find it if you don’t search
. She crouched to start on the lowest shelf, running her fingers over the spines as she searched for a slim red volume. As she found no such volume, she moved her way up the shelves to the top, beneath the shadow of the balcony ringing the room. Although she was tall, the topmost books eluded her. She needed the ladder. She dropped the ladder on her foot and nearly toppled one of the shelves, but eventually wrestled it into place beside the door. Her stomach dropping somewhere in the vicinity of her shoes, she climbed.

When she stepped high enough to read the glimmering gold lettering on the spines of the books, reflecting the cozy light of the fire, she ran her hand along the shelf as far as she could reach, searching for the book. Not there. She hurried to the ground, all the while afraid that she would trip. Her luck held.

So she continued around the room. She wasn’t always as lucky coming down off the ladder. In fact, she managed to rip the lovely lace of her hem and nearly land on her face at one point. She pulled out books and slid them back into place, but found no red book with a gold seal. By the time she searched the bottom story and mounted the steep, narrow steps to the balcony, the late hour caught up to her. Her jaw cracked with the force of her yawns, coming thicker and thicker. Stubbornly, she continued in her task, even though it meant looking at books two or three times to make sure she hadn’t missed the one she sought.

She didn’t find the book. Dejected, she sat on the top step of the spiral staircase leading down from the balcony. If it wasn’t in the library and Tristan didn’t keep it in his rooms, where had he put it? Her head swam as she contemplated the dilemma. She was too tired to piece together another likely hiding place. She would have to think harder.

Tomorrow. Tonight, all she wanted was to take one of these lovely books into her room and lose herself in its pages. She’d even set aside her choice, a tale by Mrs. Radcliffe that she hadn’t read yet. Clasping the book in her hand, she rose and gathered her hem over one arm to keep from tripping over it. She descended the stairs carefully. When she reached the bottom, she sighed.

She turned toward the door, and for a moment, her heart skipped a beat as she saw Tristan standing there.

No, not Tristan. Lord Gideon. Her eyes were deceiving her. In the firelight, his short, disarrayed hairstyle and the regal cut of his features made them nearly interchangeable. But Lord Gideon was nearly a head taller, without shoulders nearly so wide in proportion to his frame. She clutched her book to her chest, but didn’t relax knowing that it wasn’t one of the traitorous brothers who had happened upon her.

Was Lord Gideon a French spy, as well? She hated suspecting every member of Lucy’s family, but her interactions with Tristan made her wary. She didn’t expect a traitor to be devoted to his family. Was it possible that a recluse who spent more time with plants than with people had also defected to France?

Unlikely.
Harker had only mentioned the eldest brothers.

Even so, she couldn’t rid herself of the strange notion that she’d been found out. Lord Gideon’s gaze was piercing. As he beheld her, his expression turned impassive. He stepped into the room and shut the door.

Belatedly, she recalled his status of a lord due to his parentage. She dipped in a shallow curtsey, still clutching the book. “My lord.”

“I didn’t expect to find you here.” His voice was soft, but sharp at the same time.

She gulped. “I came for a book.” A beat later, she hefted her prize, proof.

Lord Gideon narrowed his eyes. For a man with so absent an air on the other occasions she’d encountered him, he now seemed alarmingly present. Not to mention astute. Did he know, could he know the extent to which she and his brother were at odds?

For a long, drawn-out moment, he said nothing at all. Then, in that same stiff, quiet tone of voice, he warned, “Don’t play with my brother’s heart. He’s fragile.”

Tristan, fragile? The corners of Freddie’s lips twitched. Her mirth died a quick death at the forbidding expression on Lord Gideon’s face. He meant his words.

If so, he obviously didn’t know his brother very well. A strong, rakish man like Tristan couldn’t possibly be fragile. If there had been a crack in his armor, Freddie would have found it by now.

She straightened her spine. “I assure you, I have no intention of doing anything at all with your brother, least of all with his heart.”
His black heart.
“Good night.”

Her pulse galloping, she brushed past him into the hall. He made no move to stop her, but long after she’d passed out of sight, the hairs on her neck stood at attention, as if she was being watched.

This house party might be the most lauded one of the Season, but Freddie, for one, couldn’t wait for it to be over.